


In Dreams, When We're Alone

by thewolfmoon



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, boiiii
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfmoon/pseuds/thewolfmoon
Summary: Eddie's having trouble dealing with what happened.





	In Dreams, When We're Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at exploring the trauma that, undoubtedly, came from fighting off Pennywise. These kids are strong, but we all break once in a while.
> 
> P.S. This is the first fanfic that I've written in years, so I'm a bit out of practice. Hopefully that hasn't hindered this too much. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can visit me on tumblr for more It/Reddie related stuff at eddiesghost

Eddie woke with a scream lodged in his throat.

He shot up in bed, immediately attempting to kick off the tangle of sheets that had wrapped itself around his legs like rope at some point in the night.

The alarm clock on his desk read 1 a.m. Eddie sighed at the sight of it, wiping away the thin layer of sweat that had gathered on his forehead with the back of his hand.

Shit. This had been happening way too much.

It’d been yet another nightmare that had torn him from his sleep. Yet another hellish array of those memories he’d been trying so hard to push deep into the unreachable recesses of his mind.

Funny enough, it’d all started after he’d gotten his cast off. Right up until then he’d been doing just fine with all this. Defeating Pennywise had left him with both a newfound sense of confidence and a willingness to believe that things would finally be okay, that he and his friends were finally ( _finally)_ safe.

But were they really? Nights like these had him doubting that. Logically he knew that the monster had retreated, that no one else had been bothered by any horrific visions since, but some part of him was still afraid—no, terrified— that it was only a matter of time before that sense of safety and calm was ripped right out from beneath him.

It was hard not to think this. He’d only gotten the cast off last week and he’d been plagued with night terrors that left him gasping in bed every night since. The cast, he thought, was the last physical reminder of what happened, and so the removal of it should’ve banished all remaining thoughts on the matter, right?

Wrong.

Now when he shut his eyes all he could see was _Its_ face. He’d see it as clearly as if he were back in the Neibolt house, or trapped in the shaded depths of the sewers. He could see It and he could feel It. Its gloved fingers digging into his shoulders, Its rows and rows of teeth sinking like blades into the skin of his neck…

It was horrifying.

But the worst of it was that in all these dreams he was alone.

He was alone because he had watched all his friends get picked off, one by one, right in front of him while he’d stood stuck, helpless and immobile. In the dreams he couldn’t fight back, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t scream. He could do nothing but watch. Watch in complete guilt as they screamed out to him for help, watch as they realized he just couldn’t give it.

Eddie shuddered, drawing his knees up to his chest. Tonight’s nightmare had been especially bad. Tonight’s had been about Richie.

In it they’d been back in the sewers. It had all felt so incredibly _real_ too, his nostrils had been clogged with the thick stench of graywater and his clothes had clung to his skin tightly, damp and dripping just like they’d been when it’d actually happened. Almost everything was the same.

Almost.

The only thing to change had been when Richie had grabbed the bat, bravely promising to kill the clown. Instead of making the successful swing Pennywise had reached out with clawed hands and grabbed Richie by the throat. It’d all been so fucking vivid, Richie paling in Its grasp, his glasses crashing to the ground, his head eventually lolling, lifeless, to the side—

Eddie had to stop, he couldn’t keep thinking about this, the whole thing was beginning to make him sick. He could feel a familiar itch growing in the back of his throat, a telltale tightness forming in the center of his chest. He chewed his lip and tentatively climbed out of bed, keeping his arms wrapped around himself. He didn’t know what to do. He missed the feeling of being able to run to his mother in times like these. Close himself in her comforting embrace, let her steady words of assurance fall over him like snow.

She used to be all he needed, but now he avoided her like the plague.

He was sure he’d never be able to get over all the lies he’d been fed, all the ways she’d tried so hard to keep him from having a normal life, being a normal boy. She’d gifted him with one of his most loathed traits, fear. Fear that he felt he just might never be able to shake.

He took a breath and reached to switch on his bedside lamp.

It didn’t work.

Eddie balked at the unresponsive appliance. He yanked on its cord one, two, three, more times, but it was in vain, the bulb would not turn on. He was stuck in the dark.

He felt terror edge in on him, a slow but sure ascent. His breathing quickened, his heart pounded mercilessly in his chest. He tried to tell himself that it was okay, that maybe the bulb just blew out. It happened, after all, it wasn’t rare, so why was he freaking out?

He sat back down on his bed, pulling himself up into a little ball and screwing his eyes shut.

            _It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t be such a wuss, it’s nothing._

But was it? Images of Richie’s death flooded back into his mind. He shook his head violently but they didn’t disappear, he saw it happen again and again and again…

What if It was back? What if It really _really_ was back? What if all the nightmares he’d been having had been because Pennywise had returned to terrorize them? To smother them in fear and horror before taking their lives once and for all?

What if his friends were already dead?

Eddie felt the strong urge to hurl but pushed it back down. This...wasn’t real. Couldn’t be happening. But at the same time there was still that small “if”, that miniscule but unshakable chance. He knew he wouldn’t ever be able to fall back asleep unless he knew his friends were safe, unless he was sure Richie wasn’t really lying dead in the sewers right now.

He blindly grabbed for the house phone he knew was lying by the foot of his bed. He’d left it there when he’d finished talking Bill earlier that day. God, that seemed like forever ago.

With little to no light he managed to dial Richie’s number, his fingers knew the pattern by heart, and he figured he’d probably be able to dial him up even in his sleep. He squeezed the receiver, holding it like it were lifeline while it rang. Richie answered within seconds.

Eddie thanked every celestial being out there that it hadn’t been one of his parents.

“ ‘lo?”

Eddie let out a soft sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, “Richie, fuck,”

“Eddie? What’re you calling me for at this time?”, Richie’s snicker filtered through the phone, “Is it your mom? Is she already asking for round two? I mean, I know i’m good, but I didn’t know I was _that_ good—”

“Richie…” Eddie, cursed himself for sounding so weak, so scared. He couldn’t even finish his sentence, he didn’t know what to say. This was stupid, he was being so incredibly stupid. How was he supposed to explain this? Richie would would crack the hell up if he knew Eddie had called him just because he’d had a nightmare. How much of a baby could he be?

He was considering hanging up when Richie spoke again.

“Eds, is everything all right?”

Eddie blinked at the change in Richie’s tone. For once he sounded, serious? Concerned?

Eddie felt something tenuous break within him.

“I— I don’t know,” his voice was breaking, he tried and tried to even it, “I’m sorry,”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” Eddie sighed, deciding to just be honest, “I just, I had this really bad dream and... I’m kind of, I’m a little...scared.” The last part came out as more of a whisper than anything else.

It was a silent for a moment, Eddie wondered if Richie had left.

“I’m comin’ over.”

“Wait, what?”

“Did I stutter kaspbrak?”

“But, I, you can’t—”

“Look, don’t worry about it dude. Just sit tight, I’ll be there soon.”

And with that he hung up. Eddie stared at the phone, stunned, for a good few seconds before setting it back down.

Did that really just happen? He climbed out of bed and went to look out his window as if he’d be able to see Richie making his way down the street already. This was insane. Since when did Richie Tozier care enough to drop everything and come to his aid? Especially in the middle of the night, why was he even up?

Eddie felt the panic that had dissipated a bit while talking to Richie creep back in. What if this was a trick, an illusion. What if he was still dreaming?

He slid down to the floor, tucking himself into the space between his bed and nightstand. He could vaguely hear himself wheezing. He clasped his hands over his ears.

Everything felt wrong, like the entire world had been knocked on its side. Eddie stared into the dark space of his closet, wondering how long it’d be before something came crawling out. He was reminded of the first time they went to the Neibolt house, when he’d been alone and hurt downstairs, helpless and frozen while a contorted Pennywise had tumbled out of the fridge. He could almost feel the pain shooting back up his arm, the bone-deep terror over not being able to breathe, not being able to scream.

“Please, please, please” he whispered, not knowing who or what he was pleading to.

“Eddie?”

Eddie startled at the sound, his hands dropping away from his ears. He tentatively looked up from his place on the floor. Richie was standing in front of him, his expression slightly bewildered.

Eddie didn’t move. “How— how did you get in?”

“Uh, your front door was open—”

“But, my mom,”

Eddie could just make out the grin sliding onto Richie’s face, “She’s conked out in the living room. Guess I did her in good huh?”

Eddie stayed silent. Richie ran a hand through his hair.

“So, um, what’s up? You sounded really upset on the phone,” he kneeled down in front Eddie, reaching out to touch him. Eddie flinched involuntarily, cursing himself right after.

“Eds? Eds, you’re shaking,”

“I can’t, I can’t breathe I—  my chest,” He stumbled over the words, unable to express in the slightest the sheer terror that was twining itself around him. There were a million and one thoughts racing through his head at once.

“What is it?” Richie tried, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it, “What do you need?”

Eddie didn’t know. He had no idea what, if anything, could fix this. He didn’t even know _what_ was happening to him. Why was he so afraid? There wasn’t anything here, nothing was chasing him, and Richie… Richie was here, alive, safe… So why did he feel like crying?

In the end his mind resorted to what he knew, what had always been familiar. “My inhaler,” he wheezed, grabbing onto the hand Richie had placed on his shoulder, “I need it,”

“Where is it?”

Eddie raked his mind for the last time he’d seen it. A sickening sense of despair settled in him when he realized he’d thrown it, along with the rest of his pills, away in a fit of frustration. “It’s, it’s gone. Oh god Richie it’s gone and I can’t breathe and—”

“Okay, okay,” Richie said, gently grabbing Eddie’s face and leveling it with his own, “let’s just take it easy. You don’t need it, it wasn’t real, remember? You don’t need it. I’m here and you can do it, you can breathe, I know you can. Just do it with me, follow my lead.”

Richie took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling steadily. Eddie let his eyes fall shut and did his best to mirror him.

“Good, that’s good,” Richie said, one hand sliding down to the nape of Eddie’s neck. He sighed as he felt Richie’s fingers rubbing gentle circles there.

“Okay?” Richie asked, his voice a soft, light thing, that could only be heard between the two of them, “Just keep breathing.”

A few moments passed like this before Eddie slumped beneath Richie’s touch, exhausted. It had worked though, Richie was right, he could breathe.

“Thanks,” he choked out, his voice still raw. He opened his eyes, heat immediately creeping onto his cheeks when he realized just how close the two of them were. Richie seemed to sense this and slowly pulled his hands away, choosing to fiddle with a tear in the knee of his jeans instead.

“So,” he said, looking around a bit awkwardly, “you like kickin’ it in the dark?”

Eddie shook his head vigorously. Richie raised an eyebrow.

“The lamp, I tried to turn it on when— when I woke up but, it didn’t work. I think the bulb blew, I’m not sure.”

Richie stood up and made his way over to the bedside table. He tried the cord of the lamp a few times before bending over and fiddling with something behind it. Soft light immediately flooded the room.

“Wait, what the hell?”

A smile split across Richie’s face, “it was unplugged, doofus.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Richie laughed, taking a seat on the edge of Eddie’s bed and patting a spot next to him, “now come on over little miss and let ol’ Rich relieve you of your worries.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but stood up nonetheless, his legs somewhat unsteady beneath him. God he felt like such a fool.

He took a seat next to Richie, but made sure to leave a fair amount of space between the two of them. Now that the light was on he was sure Richie would be able to see his flushed cheeks.

Eddie looked down, picking up a bit of his blanket and twisting it in his hands.

Richie cleared his throat. “So, um, do you wanna talk about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you wanna talk about what’s going on.”

Eddie sighed, looking up but still avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know, I’ve just...been freaking out a lot lately. I can’t, I can’t close my eyes without seeing _It._ I’m having freaking nightmares all the time, and they’re really really bad, I mean, really bad… and sometimes, sometimes I just feel like I’m not sure what’s real anymore. I don’t know what I can trust.”

“What are the dreams about?”

Eddie let go of the blanket, fisting his hands in his pajama bottoms instead, “well, some of the time they’re about me. I’ll dream that I’m back in the Neibolt house, and that you and Bill didn’t get to me when you did, and that It kil—”

“Hey—”

Eddie ignored him and went on. He had to, he had to say everything. Otherwise he feared he’d be unable to say anything at all. “But most of the dreams are about you guys. And in those I just, _watch_. I watch It take you, watch It pick you off one by one. And I can’t—  I don’t do anything. I just let it happen. And I hate it, I hate it so much. It’s like I’m completely defenseless, like I can’t do shit, not for me or for anyone else.”

Eddie felt the familiar sting of tears welling up in his eyes, “And tonight, tonight I dreamt about you. You… died Richie. I watched you go.”

Richie closed the space between them, gently loosening Eddie’s hands from where they’d been twisted in the cloth of his pants in what he hadn’t realized had been a white-knuckled grip. Eddie sniffed and avoided Richie’s gaze, turning instead to look at the lamp. He’d read somewhere once that staring into a source of light was good for preventing tears.

“Eds, you know they’re just dreams right? All that stuff, about you not being able to save us, it’s bullshit. We kicked that fucker’s ass, he’s gone now, and you helped. You’re just as much to thank as any of us.”

“I guess… I just don’t understand why I’m so _scared_ all the time. I was fine before, but now, I don’t know, it feels like everything is hitting me at once, to the point where I can’t even breathe right. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not, it’s normal, trust me. You had a bad dream and you were freaking out. Sometimes, when we panic, it can be hard to breathe or, do anything really. It happens, don’t sweat it.”

“Has it— has it happened to you?”

“A few times, yeah.”

Eddie bit his lip, “And you never told any of us?”

“I didn’t want to annoy anyone.”

“Am I annoying you?”

“No!”

Eddie startled and looked up. Richie’s eyes were saucer-wide behind the thick frame of his glasses.

“No,” he said, “never. I wouldn’t want you to deal with this alone.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed, “And you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone either.”

The two fell quiet after that. Eddie looked Richie over for the first time that night, his eyes focusing on all the little details about him he knew so well.

His disheveled halo of curls, that endless array of freckles that dotted his face. The stretched neck of his favorite blue t-shirt, the frayed laces of his weathered down shoes.

Eddie felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

“Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“Of course! I’ll always come if ya call.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Eddie nodded and yawned. God, he was so fucking tired.

“We should try and get some sleep,” Richie said, kicking off his shoes and stretching out on Eddie’s bed.

“Er, what’re you doing?”

Richie blinked up at him, “trying to knock out, what else?”

“In my bed?”

Richie sat up, “Well,” he said, grabbing one of his sneakers and moving to put it back on, “I could go—”

“No!” Eddie objected, mentally chastising himself for being so loud, “I didn’t mean— I don’t want you to— just, please stay.”

Richie smiled, plopping back down on the bed and pulling Eddie with him. They tugged the blanket up around them.

“The light?” Richie asked, taking off his glasses and setting them down next to the lamp.

“Um,” Eddie considered the fear he’d felt earlier, when the room had been almost pitch black and he hadn’t been able to tell if there was something in there with him. He hesitated.

“We don’t need to turn it off,” Richie said, his tone low, “it doesn’t bother me.”

“No,” Eddie said, hard resolve shaping his words, “I don’t need it, you can shut it off, it’s fine.” And it was true, he _didn’t_ need it, he had Richie now, he wasn’t alone.

Richie studied his face carefully before pulling the cord and plunging the room in darkness.

Eddie instinctively inched closer to him, tentatively trying to find Richie’s hand beneath the covers. Richie found his first, lacing their fingers together smoothly.

He could feel Richie’s pulse beat steadily in the center of his palm.

“It’s all gonna be all right in the end, Eds, I promise.”

“How do you know so much?” Eddie inquired, nestling into his pillow and trying to stifle another yawn.

“ ‘cause i’m smart, duh. Why do you think I wear those glasses?”

“Because you’re blind?”

“Yeah, that and i’m smart.”

Eddie smiled, his eyes drifting shut, “Yeah, you are.”

They fell asleep just like that, legs tangled together and fingers intertwined.

 

Eddie had never felt more at peace.


End file.
